“My family is from Ohio,” Mark answered, his tone softening slightly. “I lived with my aunt and uncle after my parents died, but when I was old enough to strike out on my own, I followed the railroad until I stopped here in Willow Lake.”
Layla was fascinated. She had been born in Willow Lake and had never even visited anywhere else in her whole life. “And what made you decide to stay here, in Willow Lake?”
“I liked the climate,” Mark shrugged. “The winters in Ohio can be brutal, but I found the dry air and the hot temperatures to be much more to my liking.”
Layla smiled thoughtfully. “Does that mean that you have seen snow?” she asked eagerly, and Mark tipped his head to look at her.Had she said something wrong?
After a beat, Mark replied. “Yes, I have seen snow. It’s not as wonderful as it seems.”
While she had never seen such a thing falling from the sky, she imaged that it was a wonderful sight to behold. Layla wanted to argue, but before she could ask more questions, Mark pulled the buggy to a stop.
He slid from the bench and hopped to the ground with ease. As he moved swiftly around the side of the carriage to help Layla, she noted how young he was. With his reputation for being a clever businessman and the way he was so focused and severe, she might have guessed he was in his early thirties. Studying him now, as he rushed around the side of the buggy, she estimated that he was closer to twenty-four or twenty-five years old.
Holding out his hand to her, she accepted the offer of assistance. When their fingers touched, his hands, like her own, were clammy. Perhaps Mark had been chattering away throughout the trip because he was nervous. As she stepped from the buggy, she did her best to lift her skirts away from the sand and dirt.
Mark made a face. “Perhaps you would like to change before I give you a proper tour of the house?”
She greatly appreciated the offer and nodded her assent. Mark led the way as they walked to the front porch, and only when he pushed the white-washed front door open did he drop her hand. Stepping into the cool house, she waited while her eyes adjusted to the difference between the bright exterior and the dark interior.
“This is our sitting room,” Mark said, and she followed along behind him. “We will spend our evening hours here. Mrs. Calkins liked to use this room when she was here. She and Heath would play in here during the daytime, and he would nap in a cradle that we leave next to the armchair.”
Layla scanned the room, trying to picture the baby playing in the space. She must have been making an odd expression because Mark spoke again quickly. “You do not have to use this space in the same manner, of course. It is entirely up to your discretion.” He hurried into the house without looking behind to see if she followed; Layla rushed to keep up with him.
They mounted the wooden stairs, and when they came out on the landing, Mark explained the living arrangements. “My room is right here, at the top of the stairs,” he said, motioning to the room nearest them with the closed green door. “Next to that is Heath’s nursery.” He continued talking as they moved down the hall. Heath’s door, while ajar, was also painted green. It was not the same evergreen tone as Mark’s, but rather a lighter, softer green, closer to a mint color.
“And here,” Mark paused and took a moment to scratch his dark hair while Layla caught up to him, “is your room.” The door was green, but it was so light it might have been mistaken for a rich yellow. He pushed the door open and gestured for Layla to look inside, and she saw the small bedframe at once. It was made of sturdy pine, and it had been painted a scarlet red color. The blankets on the bed were creamy white, and the quilt, placed near the foot of the bed, matched the crimson bedframe.
“Thank you,” Layla said softly as her eyes cast about the rest of the room, noting the window on the wall opposite the door, as well as the small writing desk in one corner and the chest of drawers next to it. She paused as she glimpsed the vanity. It was much like the bedframe, and she could tell they were a matching set.
“Yes, well,” Mark said, clearing his throat. “There is a fresh pitcher of water on the vanity. I will retrieve your trunks. You may then change your clothes, and I will expect you to come down to the kitchen shortly.”
“Of course,” Layla replied, curtseying a little. She felt silly doing it, but it also seemed appropriate in the situation. Before she could ask Mark where she might find the kitchen, he had disappeared, and she could hear his steps as he bounded down the staircase.
***
If someone asked Layla, she would have said that she had worked all her life, and the statement would have been true. Since she was a child, she had assisted her parents in the running of the general store, and once her mother lost her eyesight, Layla stopped attending school so she might help her mother around the house. But even with all her work experience, Layla was not prepared for the chores that awaited her on Mark Flint’s ranch.
As soon as she came into the kitchen, Mark dictated instructions. “I will expect to have my meals prepared three times a day.” This all sounded familiar to Layla, but she felt as if she were in a foreign environment when he gestured around the kitchen. “You’ll use this Dutch oven to bake the biscuits and this pot to boil the vegetables. You can also use it to boil fruit when you are preparing them for canning.”
Layla followed Mark’s movements around the kitchen, trying to comprehend everything he said, but her mind swam as she was overloaded with information. While she understood the canning process, she had never attempted it. If she wanted to eat some peaches, she went down to the general store and grabbed a jar off the shelf. The same held true for using a Dutch oven. She knew that this was a very popular cooking implement, but if she wanted freshly baked biscuits, she waited for Mr. Johnson or his son to arrive with a batch that had been baked that morning and was available for customers who came into the store.
Layla scrunched up her forehead as she trailed behind Mark around the kitchen, listening to him describe her duties and his expectations.
“Mr. Flint,” she asked, timidly breaking into his speech. “I was wondering about water. Where should I get—” Before she could finish her question or he could give her a proper answer, Heath cried out. Both Mark and Layla raced to the back door that stood open, leading out into the yard.
Though Mark moved out of the house, Layla remained in the doorway, looking about for the crying baby.
“What’s wrong, Jack?” Mark asked sternly as he strode across the short patches of grass and came up next to a young farmhand. The man was carrying Heath as though he were a dangerous animal, with his arms stretched straight out in front of him. Heath wiggled, kicked, and screamed in frustration.
“I think he’s filled his nappy, Boss,” Jack said. He sniffed the air around him and said in a disgusted voice. “Nope, check that. I know he has.”
Mark made an irritated face and reached out to grab Heath, but Layla moved faster. Rushing out of the house, and held out her arms for the baby. She spoke to the child in soothing tones.
“Hello, Mr. Heath. I understand you’ve had quite an exciting day. You must have had a big breakfast and now,” she chuckled softly. “We have some business to attend to.”
Jack raised his thin blond eyebrow, and it disappeared underneath his shaggy hair and large black hat. He looked from Mark to Layla as if to ask who he should give the baby to, so Mark nodded his head toward his new wife, and Layla took another cautious step toward the child.
As soon as Jack successfully handed Heath over, Layla brought the baby close and let his little hands rove all over her face. “That’s right, Heath. My name is Layla, and I’m here to take care of you now.” The child relaxed in her arms, and she cast a quick glance aside at Mark and Jack. They were exchanging bewildered looks.
